


Civilized

by SmilingWriter



Category: The Legend of Tarzan (2016)
Genre: F/M, Movie Reference, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 21:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7454017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmilingWriter/pseuds/SmilingWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scenes from the movie, The Legend of Tarzan (2016)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Civilized

The strange ghost man's wounds were earned protecting her, and Jane insisted on taking care of him, having the villagers carry him to her bed. She carefully sponged at his bruises, assessing the extent of the damage. She had to continually refresh the damp cloth with more warm water. Perhaps he swam regularly in a jungle stream, but a good scrubbing in a hot bath seemed to be out of his routine.

Her father hovered in the doorway, watching. "I'm not sure you should be caring for him." 

"Nonsense. That gorilla would have smashed me flat. He saved me." 

"He's a strange man."

"He's certainly unusual," she admitted cheerfully, well aware that deflection was the best tactic with her father's hesitations. She barely remembered America, but if everyone there was like her parents, they worried about the oddest notions. 

"I could ask one of the villagers to come." 

"He wasn't almost killed for one of them, father. This is my responsibility." 

"I'm still not sure it's right." 

"I've nursed people before, father." She gave him a reassuring smile. "This is nothing new." 

He gave a nod, perhaps reassured, perhaps conceding he was going to lose this argument. He put down his foot when absolutely required, but mostly he yielded to her strong will. "Well, call me if you change your mind. Or need my help." 

"I will," she promised. 

Her father drifted off, and she could hear him talking to the chief outside, as she pushed down the sheet, assessing the ghost man's entire body and what help he needed. He was gorgeous, perfectly and leanly muscled, like a drawing by one of the great masters in her father's art books. Her heart ached for what he had suffered, the bruises marring his beautiful skin, even as an odd feeling fluttered within her, making her breasts and belly feel tingly. She'd felt the same in the jungle when he'd knelt before her and tried to sniff her lower regions, feelings both disturbing and exciting. 

As well as being exquisitely built, he was big, almost a head taller than Jane. He had a lot of skin that needed washing. "Well," she told him bracingly, "I shall need more water." 

Jane was determined to do her duty, as any good, responsible woman would, and tried to ignore that a small part of her was oddly thrilled to have this chore. 

~~~

Tarzan, her father said the villagers called him. They had thought he was a spirit of the forest, and were amazed he had turned out to be a white man. No one knew how he had come to be living in the jungle, but they were enjoying the speculation. 

"Tarzan," Jane said, lightly touching his hair, twisted and full of mats. He was still mostly sleeping, but woke occasionally, to look at her with confused eyes and accept the broth she spooned into his mouth. "I'm sure you would feel better if your hair was less matted, don't you agree?" 

He recoiled a bit as she brought the comb toward him, looking at it nervously. 

"It's a comb." She ran it through a few strands of her own hair, before gesturing toward his head. "Let me help you feel better." He didn't speak, didn't move, which she took as agreement, beginning at the bottom, separating the strands, combing out an inch of his hair, and gradually working her way up. She didn't want him to move, working on one side of his head for a while before switching to the other side of the bed. In places, his hair was too twisted to untangle, and she had to use her sewing scissors to carefully snip out the knots. He watched her the entire time, with startling blue eyes both curious and apprehensive. 

"This is all very strange to you, isn't it? Scissors, a house, a bed. I guess even me. Have you seen a white woman before?" 

She didn't expect an answer, but kept talking to him. Whoever he was, however he had come to be living in the jungle, he didn't belong there. He needed to learn English, so they could help him find his proper home, and hearing the language spoken would help. 

Her hands began to get tired, but she worked until she was finished. She put the comb down and stretched her fingers, releasing the tension. "There, you look more civilized now. You look like a gentleman lounging in bed. Not, of course, that I should know what a gentleman lounging in bed should look like, but I have brought my father coffee in the morning." 

He brought one hand up to touch his hair, stroking down the length, his expression showing wonder as he felt its sleekness. 

"And now you should say thank you. That's what you say when someone does something for you. Like I should say thank you for saving my life from that gorilla. Thank you," she repeated. 

"Thank you?" he asked with hesitation. 

She beamed at him. "Yes, thank you! My father is a language professor. He teaches the villagers to speak English. We'll have you talking in no time and figure out how you came here." 

"Thank you," Tarzan said again. Months later, he would tell her that he'd had no idea what he was saying, only that the words made her smile, and he loved to see her smile. 

~~~

She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Her beauty wasn't only surface; she'd also smelt wonderful, the day that he had first seen her in the jungle, and touched and scented her in greeting. He didn't understand why she had pushed him away, but he hoped he would have the chance to finish smelling her. 

She read to him, though Tarzan didn't understand quite what she was doing. She had a object in her hands, and stared at it, speaking clearly and sometimes with great animation. He liked to watch her face and her changing expressions. 

Sometimes she brought a thinner book, and perched on the side of his bed, showing him the pages, pointing to individual marks, and speaking them slowly. "A. B. C." Other times, she pointed to things in the room and said individual words. "Bed. Sheets. Nightstand. Picture." 

Tarzan craved to understand her and be able to communicate with her in the fashion she wanted, paying close attention, learning to speak and write English with a speed that astounded her. ("Though we are Americans, so we should probably say American, but our ancestors came from England. Our language is English.") She was so happy each time he said a word and began to print, he tried even harder to please her. 

Looking at her hands holding the book one day, he realized that there were books in the tree house where he'd been found, and where his mother took him periodically. 

When he was feeling better and didn't need to stay in the bed all day, he took her hand and pulled her toward the jungle. She tugged back in momentary resistance, but then relaxed and began following. 

"Jane?" Her father asked, looking up from his conversation with Wasimbu as they walked by the two of them. 

"I think he wants to show me something in the jungle." 

"Wasimbu, would you - " 

Wasimbu nodded. "I will take care of her." He followed them, as Jane called back, "I don't need a chaperone! I've been going into the jungle alone for years!"

"You're not alone," her father responded dryly, and Jane didn't argue. The two of them in her bedroom had probably been beyond the bounds of decency, but he'd been hurt. He wasn't hurt now, but strong, vigorous, and barely clad in the loincloth that her father had borrowed from one of the villagers. 

He reached a tree and began nimbly climbing a vine, stopping to look down inquisitively at Jane, still standing on the ground. 

"I can't climb that." 

He shimmied back down, presenting his back to her. "Climb on me." 

"Wasimbu, wait here," Jane instructed, as she climbed onto Tarzan's back, wrapping her arms and legs around him. She'd never held onto a man so closely, never felt the strong flexing and bunching of male muscles as he climbed the vine, and into a rudimentary tree house, placed so high in the very tall tree that Jane almost felt she was in the clouds. 

"This." Tarzan gestured around the tree house. "I came from here." 

"Well, you may have been born here, but you didn't come from here. You came from America or Europe." She touched the crib, finely made of a dark wood, and noted the larger bed, the few small remnants of humans, a woman's silver comb, a crudely carved pot. "Perhaps your parents were missionaries. Something must have happened to them, something bad."

"I don't know. I only remember living with my pack. But there was - here." He spied the book where it had fallen under the rough table, picking it up and handing it to her. "This book. It has always been here." 

She opened it, noting the fineness of the leather binding. "This is a journal. A man's journal." 

Tarzan peered over her shoulder. The writing was elegant, the cursive that Jane had begun teaching him. "My father?" 

"Only if your father was an Earl." 

"An earl?"

"Oh lord. Your father was an Earl," Jane said, scanning the last note written in the journal, of a man's love for his son and his prayers for his safety. "You're an Earl." 

"What is an Earl?"

Jane stared at Tarzan, this savage man who was working to become civilized, with no concept that he should be a leader in the greatest empire the world had seen. Everyone knew that the sun never set on the British empire, well, everyone but this man who was barely dressed in a skimpy loincloth and was an *Earl.* "It's like a chieftain. Your father was a chieftain, but now he is gone, and you're the chieftain." 

"I am not leader of my pack." 

"It's a hereditary title in England. Your father was a chief, so you are too. You don't have to fight anyone. And your name is John, not Tarzan. You're Lord John Clayton III, Earl of Greystoke." 

"Lord John Clayton III, Earl of Greystoke," Tarzan repeated, pronouncing each word precisely, but Jane knew he didn't understand. How could he? He wasn't the son of lost missionaries, but of British nobles. He should have been graduating from Oxford or Cambridge and taking a tour of the continent, not getting pounded by a gorilla and climbing vines in the jungle. 

"We should take this to my father. He'll know who to contact. You may have family who will want to know you're still alive."

And who would come take him home, away from the jungle. 

Away from Jane. 

~~~

"If we had a book of British peerage, we could learn his closest relative," Jane's father mused. 

"He must have relatives, I suppose? People who would want to know where he is?" Maybe he didn't. Maybe no one would want him back, and he could stay in Africa. 

"Undoubtedly. At the least, aunts, uncles, cousins. And I assume there is a Greystoke manor, with servants and tenants. An Earl would have great responsibilities." A strange expression passed over her father's face. 

"Father, what are you thinking?" 

"He's an adult and the trip from England is long. His relatives may not even know he exists, if his mother became pregnant on the ship, or after they arrived here. The Earldom has probably been awarded to the closest male cousin."

"Then he shouldn't go back to England!" Jane said, with perhaps too much triumph. 

"He should have the right to his inheritance, to be the person destiny intended him to be," her father chided. "But it might be wise to approach his father's solicitors or some neutral party. The current Earl might lose a letter that would depose him. I have a cousin William Porter, who is a solicitor in London. I've never met him, but I've heard he is a responsible man. I shall write him and let him know of the situation and the proof we have." He patted the Earl's journal. 

Her father wrote the letter that night, and arranged for one of the villagers to take it to Boma, for delivery to the next ship bound to England. Jane would have helped him, but was grateful he didn't ask. 

~~

Tarzan was as smart as he was strong. Having learned English and devoured all of her father's books, he moved onto languages of the closest African tribes, and then European languages from travelers and adventurers. His thirst for knowledge was undeniable, absorbing everything he could, equally interested in history, science, mathematics, literature, biology, and philosophy. 

They had adventures, Tarzan and Jane. First with the beasts, and Jane learned how well Tarzan could relate to and communicate with the animals in the jungle, how he could mimic their sounds, everything from the sweetest bird call to the fiercest roar. 

The adventures got stranger, problems with the other tribes, with Europeans searching for mysterious lost cities of gold, deserters from the Foreign Legion, with unnatural beasts like the golden lion, even with crazy ant men and leopard men. Throughout all the danger, Jane refused to scream or be helpless, but her bravery was assisted by the knowledge that Tarzan's intelligence and strength made him more formidable than a dozen other men, and that he would do absolutely anything to protect her. 

Absolutely anything.

~~~

The day seemed like any other day, her father teaching an English class, and Jane working on chores in the house. Tarzan would be around, Jane knew. Sometimes he hung out with the young men, other times he would come help her, hanging wet laundry like he didn't understand men didn't do that kind of chore. Tarzan did what he wanted, and little pleased him more than helping Jane. 

Jane heard the buzzy noise of conversation, and stepped outside to see what was happening. A group of strangers were walking toward the village, white men, and as always, wearing inappropriately heavy clothes. The chieftain made his presence plain, letting them approach him. 

"I am looking for David Porter. I understand he lives in this village." The man who spoke was elderly, but tall, and looked still vigorous. 

"I'm David Porter," Jane's father said, emerging from a group of his students, and offering his hand to shake. 

The man shook his hand in return. "Your cousin contacted me. I understand you have proof of my daughter's fate and know my grandson John."

"John! Well, Tarzan. We've told him that his name is John but he seems to prefer Tarzan. It's the name he was given by the Mangani apes." Jane's father glanced around as everyone shifted subtly, creating a gap that Tarzan walked through. Though Jane hated the thought that his grandfather would take him back to England, she was relieved to see he was wearing the breeches and vest she had made him. Heaven knows what his grandfather would have thought of the loincloth. His grandfather would likely find the lack of shirt and shoes disturbing enough. 

"Grandfather?" 

"John. John." 

They fell into each other's arms, hugging, and Jane could see the faint tears on his grandfather's cheeks. What relief he must be feeling, to know that his daughter's son had survived all these years. Jane felt a similar moistness in her eyes and wiped them away. 

This was a happy occasion, the start of John's return to the life he should always have known, and she would not cry. 

Not where Tarzan might see her. 

~~~

They settled in to enjoy tea as the villagers prepared a feast to celebrate the arrival of Tarzan's grandfather. Jane was grateful that her hands were steady as she poured, and added sugar as requested. 

John's grandfather was obviously devoted to his daughter and thrilled to meet his grandson, speaking of his delight at receiving the news from William Porter, of his immediate plans to make the long trip to the continent, of the people and places that Alice had loved in England, and that he wanted to share with his grandson. "I would like to rest a few days but then we can return to England as soon as you are ready." 

John had been mostly silent, listening to his grandfather, asking only a few questions. He nodded at his grandfather's suggestion. "I can leave immediately, as soon as Jane is ready." 

"Jane?" 

All three men looked at Jane, who found herself blushing. "I don't know what John means. I have nothing to do with his traveling home." 

"John, I realize that you and Jane are close and have done a fair amount of traveling around Africa, but it wouldn't be the thing for her to go to England with you. She's a single woman. She needs to stay with me. I'm her father." 

"I had understood that a husband took precedence over a father." There, in the middle of the parlor, John dropped to one knee in front of Jane, and held out one hand, a diamond ring on his palm. "Jane Porter, would you marry me?" 

"That was my daughter's ring," John's grandfather said. 

"I found it hidden in the tree house that my father built. I have been waiting for the right moment to give to you." 

"John." Now Jane's hand did tremble, as she placed her palm on top of his, covering the ring between them. "You're an Earl. You own an estate. You're supposed to marry an English lady." 

John's blue eyes were steady, serious. "Say that you don't love me, or say that you do and that you will marry me. Nothing else matters." 

When did he become so implacable, so determined? Or hadn't he always been, and Jane simply hadn't acknowledged it? A man who would suffer a pounding from a wild animal to help a stranger was a person of great strength and character. "I cannot imagine any greater happiness than to live my life at your side," Jane answered, and then was swept into his arms, being kissed.

This time she let herself cry. It was a day for happy tears. 

~~~

Wasimbu must have run all the way, because he returned from Boma with a minister before the feasting preparations were finished. The feast was even grander now that the celebration was no longer just of Tarzan's grandfather arriving, but of Jane and Tarzan marrying. 

The minister seemed disconcerted to be marrying two white people in a small African village, but he said the appropriate words and produced a wedding certificate for them to sign, with her father and John's grandfather as witness. The chieftain added his blessing, and the village went crazy with eating, drinking, dancing, and singing songs of Tarzan's legend. 

When Jane escaped from the party, her head was swimming as she changed out of her best dress and into her nightgown. The fermented beer had seemed especially strong, though perhaps the happiness she felt was the cause of her dizziness. She settled into her bed, sitting up, running the comb through her hair, as the door quietly opened and John slipped in. 

He leaned against the door, looking so strange in a proper suit and boots. He must have caught her look at his attire, because he smiled ruefully down at his own body. "My grandfather insisted I be properly dressed. I believe he actually badgered this off his manservant." 

"You look wonderful, very much an English gentleman." 

"I have been told by both my grandfather and your father that I should be very gentle with you." 

"You are the strongest and gentlest and bravest man I know." 

He smiled, sitting on the bed by her, taking the comb from her hand and placing it on the nightstand. "You are my wife now, and I understand this civilization. I understand that you must obey me. The minister said so today." 

"Don't hold your breath - " she started to say, but he was leaning toward her, sniffing at her, rubbing his head against hers, running his clenched fist over her body, in a repeat of their first meeting, only this time, when he sniffed down her body to the juncture between her thighs, she didn't stop him. He gave a gentle nudge, and she relaxed against the headboard, as he pushed away the sheets and lifted her nightgown, nuzzling her most private place. 

"You smell so good," he murmured. 

She gave a small gasp at the sensation of his lips on her delicate parts. "I'm sure you are not at all civilized," she said. 

"Perhaps not completely," he admitted, before sealing her lips with his own. They kissed and caressed each other, slowly losing their clothes. Jane was momentarily amused that this time, he wore so much more than she did, before she was distracted by the sight of his naked chest, and then the rest of his body. He had to stand up to lose the boots and breeches, and paused for a moment, letting her look her fill. "Do I please you?" 

"You know you do." She tugged at him, pulling him down to cover her. His soft lips and powerful hands touched her everywhere, exploring her body with abandon, and she responded in kind. Nothing seemed wrong or forbidden with John. His lips on her nipples made her shiver, his fingers exploring her soft folds had her shaking, until he spread her thighs and slipped inside. His size invading her hurt some, but he kissed away her tears, letting her adjust before he began thrusting. She moved with him, accepting and welcoming him, until she felt the pleasure build in her belly and crash through her entire body, so absorbed in the overwhelming sensation that she barely registered when he stiffened and cried out. 

"Not at all civilized," she said again, stroking his sweaty back as he sprawled on her body. She dared to sweep her hands all the way down to his buttocks, feeling their curved shape. 

He shifted their bodies so that he was on the bed, her head cradled to his chest. "We'll be on the ship for a very long time. You can spend hours working on my being civilized."

"I will," she promised. 

~ the end ~


End file.
